


Shocking

by orangeCrates



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Human Experimentation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 15:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7690429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeCrates/pseuds/orangeCrates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robert intended to use Altair as bait to lure out Malik. But, jokes on him, because the very last person on this planet Malik would go to save was Altair after how he had ruined his life.</p><p>(At least, that was what Altair assumed.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shocking

The first time Altair had seen Malik's face it had been on a still photo of a serious faced young man as a part of his file. From his information, Altair knew the boy was seventeen, that his parents were from Syria and he had a brother diagnosed with Haze Syndrome.

He was much younger looking in person, that was what Altair decided when he watched the teen sit down for an interview before he was approved to join the program. Rauf was the one to conduct the interview (Altair was not a people person), but there was a one way mirror installed.

Malik had been so scrawny back then, and it might have been because he had a lot of growing to do, but there was a pallor to his skin that hinted at a lack of nutrition.

There were things that Altair would always remember, like the way Malik's hands were so still when he spoke (a sign of his nervousness though that required knowledge of Malik's behaviours), and the determination in his voice when he gave an answer to the question of 'why are you here?'.

"Because I want to save my brother."

* * *

The last thing Altair saw was a sliver of sky visible between two tall buildings right before the world went dark. When he woke up, it was not in an alley that smelled strongly of the dumpster in it, but a dark room that smelled like musty concrete. He was on a chair with his arms shackled together behind him and he cocked his head as his ears caught the sound of a familiar _hum_ before the door in front of him creaked open.

"It's has been a while, Altair."

Robert De Sable, for all his education and intelligence had never made the most cursoary attempt to say his name properly. It was no different now as he stepped through the tent flap with armed guards on each side.

"Robert De Sable." Altair's voice was full of ice as he tilted his head in a show of looking down on the man (despite how Robert was physically taller, Altair had always been good at staring down people). "I see you're still alive."

"I'm sure you wish it were otherwise." Robert said, "You caused us a quite a bit of...trouble when you left."

Altair's stance was deceptively casual. "Only a bit?"

Because the truth was Altair had destroyed millions of dollars worth of equipment and research, killed one of the founders of the project (and stolen their only successful living sample). "A bit" was an understatement for the trouble he had caused. But his mind was racing with the possibility that it hadn't been _enough_ that he will never be able to destroy the monster he had created. It was a fear that haunted him constantly and it was why he had followed on one particular trail that had put him in that club where he had been caught. There was real cause for worry in the way Robert smiled at him now.

"It was a setback, but nothing we haven't been able to recover from. But there are pieces we are missing." Robert leaned against the wall with all the humour of a man holding onto some vital secret, amusing himself with watching Altair flounder in the dark, trying to guess what it was. "That is where we need you."

"I will tell you nothing." That much Altair was sure of, but it only made Robert laugh.

"Oh, I know. Rashid had made many mistakes with you, but he had gotten one thing correct in raising you: you are difficult to break, impossible to sway from your path...well, almost." Robert did not speak of that person directly, but even such an indirect reference made Altair want to rip his tongue out. "No, your cooperation would be too difficult to secure. Your role here is a bit more passive."

Truly, this man talked _too much_ , but Altair wasn't going to give Robert the satisfaction of making him ask for more information.

When Altair said nothing, Robert shook his head and continued. "You, arrogant as ever, over estimate your own importance. We do not need you. _You_ are only bait."

There hadn't been much noise before (only the quiet hum of the cuffs on his arms and the drip-drip-dripping of something liquid in the walls), but what little sound there was was drowned out by a sudden pounding in his ears. There was no question of who he was bait for.

All the knowledge, all the research they had done had only yielded one successful test subject, an important piece of the puzzle that may very well allow for the breakthrough they needed even before. Now, it would plug in all the gaps Altair had created playing saboteur.

Despite the dire consequences, Altair couldn't help the laugh, sharp and dangerous.

"He's dead." Altair said and there was no hint of a lie in his voice (but he could see from the way Robert raised a brow at him, that it was not believed), "and even if he weren't, you have chosen the wrong bait. I am the last person he would come back for."

It hurt to admit, but it was also offered a self-depracating sort of reassurance. 

Malik would not come, not for him (not anymore) and Robert would never get his hands on him (Altair would make sure of it).

"We'll see about that." Robert reached into his pocket, and pulled out a slim remote that Altair recognized. It was a relief to see it, to know that the facility was still using the same magnetized handcuffs they always did. 

"No," He said as the guards walked towards him at a nod from Robert, no doubt to restrain him or knock him out again before they removed him again, "we won't."

One guard pulled out a tazer and Altair counted the steps he took--one-two-three--beofre Altair's hands snaked out from behind him and buried his thumbs in the first man's eyes.

Robert pressed the button once. Then again when the small blinking light on Altair's cuffs didn't change from a cheerful yellow to red, making them cling to each other with a force few men can break while Altair tazed the guard with his own weapon.

* * *

For a while, Malik had been allowed free run of the facilities (except for the quarantine areas and the places where he needed clearance to reach). The cuffs he wore had been in everyone's interest because sometimes their volunteers had become violent in the past. (They told Malik it was to better monitor his body and any changes it may undergo.)

"I didn't expect to see you here." Malik said, as he wiped his face with the towel draped over his neck. Altair had come because the gym area was usually empty at this time of night, but it seemed like he wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep.

He considered leaving for a moment but ended up shrugging his own duffel bag onto the bench and staying. Statistically, there was an 89% chance that Malik would not survive the procedure coming up.

"This area is free to use for all staff."

"Yes." Malik agreed and stretched with a sigh (that made Altair pause and stare at the shift of his muscles). "But you're a researcher." He said it like it explained everything.

And Altair couldn't just let that pass (Rashid had spent an equal amount of time sighing and praising his tendency to be competetive), so he said, "I could beat you at anything here."

Malik tilted his head and smiled like Altair had just fallen into his trap (and the expression was distracting enough that Altair almost forgot that Malik was going to die). "Want to make that a bet?"

They spent the rest of the night going from exercise to exercise, from best out of three to five, to seven, until they were just wrestling on the mat for the guards to practise hand to hand. Malik hadn't pinned him so much as he had fallen on him, his laughter breathless as he tucked his face into the crook of Altair's neck.

"I win." He said and Altair didn't bother to deny it (he was too busy denying the impulse to wrap his arms around Malik's waist).

It was not _love_ (not yet) that filled his chest as they lay there, but a vague regret. It had been fun, and it was unlikely to happen again.

Malik finally pushed himself up onto his hands and looked down at Altair, his expression made a great attempt at bravery that made him look younger and vulnerable instead. It occurred to Altair that he hadn't bothered to wonder if these late night excursions are normal for Malik or a product of nerves. He licked his lips.

"I know my chances aren't good." He sat back, giving Altair the space to sit up if he wanted to. "But if it fails, will it help? Even if I die, will you be closer to finding the cure?"

_Will it be worth anything?_

Much later, Altair would wish he had spilled the terrible truth that night, if he could go back, he would confess everything. He would have taken Malik and run as far away as they could. 

But that was the person he became, someone so far removed from the person he had been that night that he could scarcely believed they were the same person.

The person he was only sat up and said, "yes. This is bigger than you or me. Whatever happens tomorrow, it will be a step towards something _great_."

* * *

Altair grit his teeth against the budding pain at his side, his blood seeping out of wound to bloom on the ground into pointed startbursts.

The guards that came with Robert De Sable were dead (but not before one of them had stabbed him in the side), but the man himself had fled. Altair pushed his shoulder against the worn door frame and bared his teeth against the cold wind hitting against his cheeks.

He was still holding onto the gun he'd taken off one of the guards while his other hand was pressed to the wound at his side. The blood loss was not too terrible (yet), but the snow was blowing wildly outside and he was left with the choice between trying to follow Robert's tracks before they were covered or staying to wait out the storm, maybe even attempt to bandage his wounds.

He may still die either way, but going out, Altair was very aware, meant almost certain death.

He stepped outside anyway, because if Robert was convinced Malik were alive, then he couldn't be allowed to survive.

(No one who came with him could be allowed to leave if they knew. And there certainly were others. They would not hunt Malik with so few people.)

His breathing was turning shallow and his muscles shivered from the cold, but he had to keep going. He could not let them find Malik. He--

\--tripped, stumbled and fell, trying to catch himself with his arms but sinking into the snow instead and it _stung_.

He wasn't sure if he dropped the gun, or if he just couldn't feel his fingers, but before he could look for it there was a crunch of snow and someone was coming around the corner. Altair grit his teeth, pushed up to do something (he could not die here. Not now, not like this)--but the man fell with a thunk from being hit behind the head by something long with a large flat head at the front (it was hard to tell with all this snow, but Altair thought it might have been a shovel). When he fell the person who was wielding the shovel (and that _was_ what it was, odd as it seemed), pressed the tip against the man's back.

Then the guard began to convulse. Altair was still having trouble getting himself up as the air was filled with the smell of fresh, fallen snow, mingling with burning flesh. The person with the shovel pulled it off the guard's back. His face was covered by a skii mask and his shape was obscured by thick, winter clothes. He was sure he knew the voice he had to strain to hear over the winds saying, "you're a mess" right before he blacked out.

* * *

They called it Haze Syndrome because of one of its earliest symptoms, the way it affected its victim's sight, as they were seeing the world through a cloud.

It was caused by a virus that not only grew and mutated faster than vaccines could be created, but had no confirmed source, seemingly having come out of nowhere and was then passed from person to person at a rate that made it seem unstoppable.

With hysteria growing with every report and desperation making powerful men and women (who were afflicted but nowhere near dead, because the disease dragged on, taking more and more until there was nothing left), back any attempt to fight this new threat.

One of these was the Animus Project, a different approach to fighting the virus that did not focus on vaccines but trying to force the evolution of the human body to be able to fight back against the virus on its own terms.

Rashid had certainly crafted the project to fight something, though it had never been the virus.

He had wanted to create a weapon, to create a new breed of slave that would push the world towards the brink of destruction (again).

* * *

When Altair woke up, the ceiling was an unpainted wood intead of tarp and he was naked beneath the ratty but warm blanket covering him.

The door creaked open and Altair tensed and didn't relax when he saw Malik come in with a basket in one hand.

"Oh, you're awake."

Altair pushed himself into sitting up as Malik sat down on the chair already beside the bed. "You were really there." It seemed unreal, even with Malik sitting right there, within reach.

"If I weren't you'd be dead." The basket was full of medical supplies that Malik unpacked. He laid the bandages on the bed, followed by a glass container before pulling out some sheers. "I need to change your bandages."

"What happened to De Sable?" Altair asked as Malik cut through the bandages.

"He got away." The soiled bandages were removed. Malik was wearing long sleeves, but there was no hiding the bumps along his left arm, starting from the back of his hand, and continuing to just above his elbow in two neat rows. The smooth blue scales that covered it was visible on his hand, which worked to clean Altair's wound before redressing it.

The brushes of it against Altair's skin was smooth and warm, and Altair remembered a time when Malik had hated people seeing any part of his left arm, how he hadn't liked anyone touching it (though when he was alone with Altair, after all the tests conducted on him, the dislike was overshadowed by the need for reassurance, the need for contact that would not hurt, that did not treat him like a thing.)

They were both silent as they worked, until Malik was securing the edge of the bandage. His finger tips lingered on the bandages before he dropped his hand with a sigh.

"Did you really think I wouldn't come for you?"

"You shouldn't have come." And it wasn't an answer, he knew. But he said it because it was _true_ and he could say it without having to admit to any weakness (because while the reassurance that Malik would not come had hurt, it was in contradiction to the relief that flooded him when he realized Malik _had come for him_ and the guilt ate away at him for it).

"But I did." Malik cocked his head and he was more the person he was at seventeen than the fearful thing he had been a year later, desperately clutching at Altair and asking him not to leave. "Would you rather I had left you to die?"

"You shouldn't let them know you're still alive--"

"Considering that they've come to this place, to set a trap for me, it'd be stupid to assume they don't already know that." Malik was not looking at him (and that was probably for the best). "You saved me from all that. Returning the favour seemed like the least I could do."

Altair found that he did not like the way Malik was plucking at the ratty blanket on the bed. It _irritated_ him in a way that was wholly illogical. (It was not that. It was the fact that Malik thought he owed Altair _anything_ when he was the one who--)

"I engineered the virus that killed Kadar."

And Malik might have already guessed it, because even though he flinched it was far too subtle a reaction to be shock. Malik closed his eyes tight and breathed in sharply. Then, slowly, he released it along with the grip he had taken on the blanket.

"I know." The admission was so quiet it could have been imagined, the breath behind it barely displacing the air. "You should sleep."

* * *

Altair looked up from where he was sitting at Malik's bedside when the door opened. Rashid nodded at him.

"I heard he survived." There was no need to reply. The entire facility was abuzz with the news that Malik, against all probabnility, had survived the procedure. Altair did not move from his place as Rashid went to check on the report.

He nodded again, to himself this time.

"Good job. But, Altair, my boy, it is not a success yet until we know his mental state." Rashid had said, coming to stand by Altair's side. Despite his words, there was a glint in his eyes as he touched the milky blue scales on his left arm.

"If he is suitable, we will need a way to control him."

"What do you think we should do?" Altair asked and the equipment monitoring Malik's vitals continued to beep in the background.

There was no telling what Rashid thought when he saw Altair here, sitting by Malik's side, but it made him look at Altair and said, "we will need to run tests. We cannot afford to be kind, but you cannot tame a horse with only a stick. He must be given a reward, some taste of kindness that will make him loyal."

It had seemed reasonable (even logical), but even back then, there was something about what Rashid was proposing that made Altair uneasy.

(It did not, however, stop him from staying with Malik, and offering him a haven in his arms while they conducted tests and treated him like a subject of interest instead of a person.)

* * *

When Altair got up Malik was sorting his things into piles.

"Do I need to tie you to the bed?" Malik sounded exasperated, not amused, but Altair couldn't help smirking.

"You'd have to do better than state of the art electromagnetic cuffs."

A chipped much went into one pile. "Ropes aren't affected by the jammer you've hidden in that prosthetic finger." Surely, despite how well, it was concealed, Malik knew it was there as easily as if it were lit up with a neon light sign.

The scrape of the chair against the floor precluded the thump of Altair dropping down on the chair. He watched Malik sort his piles of things for a moment. "What are you doing?" seemed like a safe question, like a patch of ground without a mine hidden beneath it.

"I'm leaving." reminded him that mines were _hidden_ and no matter how safely Altair tread there was always danger lurking in every step.

"Where are you going?"

"Wherever you are, I guess."

The answer was an automatic but no less emphatic _no_ that made Malik turn to look at him with a frown.

"You don't get to decide that." he said evenly before adding something else to one of the piles. "It's my life, it's _my_ choice." And he challenged Altair to say otherwise.

It was _infuriating_ especially because the hard glint of determination in Malik's eyes was stupidly attractive and Altair both regretted all the chances he had ruined and angry at Malik's tenacity.

"You won't be safe if you come with me." _I can't protect you._

"I've never been safe." Malik spat and the air tasted like static. "Not since this!" He said and gestured at his left arm.

It was covered but Altair knew what it looked like, could remember it down the the way it felt curled around his neck as Malik hyperventilated against his chest.

You did this. All of it was _you_.

The thought make Altair's throat tighten so that when he spoke he sounded frog-like. "I'm sorry."

"I don't want your apology." It was the closest Malik had been to being cold. But it didn't sound like a rejection of his apology and Altair didn't _want_ to look for forgiveness (even the slimmest possibility of such a thing) where he didn't deserve any. Malik stood and walked over. His hand hovered over Altair's shoulder for a moment before touching it. "I don't want to be afraid anymore. Not of them."

That made Altair laugh. "So you're going to put yourself in the line of fire?"

There was a crackle and then a sting, like a static shock, ridiculous and annoying but it was a threat. Because Malik could generate more electricity than that and they both knew it. "I am the monster they created. It is about time I made them face up to it."

Altair looked at him. He did not want to touch Malik (but the touch he offered was different than the touch of his hand dressing his wounds, it was different from the desperate grip he used to have on him and Altair wanted so badly to keep this). "This is what you want?"

"Yes."

"All right." Altair said and, even though he knew Malik would be offended he thought, this time...this time things will be different.

_This time I won't let them touch you._


End file.
